The merc laughs, but there's no humor in it—he's just going through the motions. "Of course we will," he says. "It's just that I haven't been underground in years. Last time I saw demons underground, they were killing folks just to bathe in their blood. The rituals…the sacrifice. Humans weren't enough for them though—they went after their own next. Killed each other until the bodies were stacked so high you could wade through them. But demons don't die. They came back, mangled bodies twitching and churning like a carpet of red ants…"
"Where was this?" you ask. You think you have a good idea where LaFlamme came from. Qui had been involved in two of Ottawa's failed raids on Montreal's barbarous Sabbat cultists. Blood rituals like the one he's described fit perfectly with what Corliss taught you about the vampire cult and its grisly rites.
"They had whole caverns carved out under Montreal," he says, staring down the tunnel with haunted eyes. "Stained dark brown and crusted with blood. Smelled like metal. Hard to breathe. Your Sheriff pulled me and my daughter out from the cages. The others ran for the exit but I stayed with him. The demons ran for them and tore them to pieces while we followed your master."
"So you survived by following Qui out of the tunnels," you say. "Maybe that's a good instinct to stick to, here."
He pauses. "Maybe you're right. Yeah." You can tell that he's trying to convince himself, but maybe that's the best you'll be able to manage. "Thank you," he says. "For a devil, you're not half bad."
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